


Tomorrow

by SparkBeat



Series: Commissions [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: If You Squint - Freeform, More Feels, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, sensitive medic hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkBeat/pseuds/SparkBeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you find your errant speedster after years apart, how do you react? What do you say? What do you do?</p><p>If you're Ratchet, you make sure he's in one piece, and then frag his brain module out.</p><p>A commission for SlimReaper/Iopele</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlimReaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/gifts).



> This is a sequel to [Tonight](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/15298477)
> 
> This was a commission for the wonderful [Iopele](http://iopele.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much!

_ “So come back with me to the  _ Lost Light. _ Come back, if not as an Autobot...then as a friend.” _

 

How it hurt Ratchet to say those words, to leave the question unanswered,  _ unasked _ , between them. Friends? Or something more? He stood aside as Drift coded the ramp open on his derelict little ship, and didn’t bother to hide the way his optics tracked those worn, scuffed, but still oh so attractive hips that swayed so temptingly when the other mech walked up into the ship ahead of him.

 

Drift looked back over his shoulder, and smiled when their optics met.

 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Drift held out his hand, beckoning Ratchet up the ramp after him. “About coming back to the Lost Light…”

 

“Oh?” He tried so hard to sound nonchalant about it, like his spark wasn’t a whirlwind in his chest, like his fuel pump  _ wasn’t _ stuttering and skipping. Judging from Drift’s widened smile, he could guess he failed. Not that it mattered, not that  _ anything _ mattered in this moment, except for the fact that he’d  _ found Drift _ , and he was  _ safe. _

 

Drift nodded, unaware of his turmoil as he stepped closer, into Ratchet’s personal space, as the ramp closed up behind them, sealing them into the dim, comforting light of the ship. The mech’s arms spread wide as Drift pinned him with a curious, unreadable look.

 

“I don’t think I should come back as an Autobot. Not yet, anyway. I can’t just pick the badge back up like nothing happened. I  _ was _ banished…”

 

“ _ Wrongfully  _ banished, you selfless-”

 

“I was banished, Ratch. Regardless of circumstance, hundreds of mechs saw me stripped of my rank and badge. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.” Drift was standing close now, so close his chest plate brushed against Ratchet’s windshield. His arms still hovered in the air to either side of Ratchet, as if unsure of where to rest.

 

“So come back anyway...screw all of them, they’re a bunch of idiots, and if they try and say anything-”

 

“Ratch!” Drift was laughing, optics bright and a smile on his face, “You can’t beat a few hundred mechs into submission for me, much as that  _ would _ be entertaining to watch…” 

 

“Like scrap I can’t…” He muttered, keeping perfectly still. It was torture, to be this close to the mech he’d loved, who’d loved  _ him _ , and not drag him into his arms, soothe away all the damage and hurt the universe had dealt him. But this was a Drift who’d been away for quite a while...long enough for anything to happen…

 

“Ratch, please...let me finish?” He just rolled his optics and nodded at Drift’s chuckling entreaty, and the mech sighed. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? You said...come back as an Autobot...or a friend...has...has  _ that _ changed? Am I not allowed to come back as anything else? Anything  _ more? _ ”

 

The little ember of hope Ratchet had so ruthlessly stamped out when he first saw Drift again flared to life in an inferno, and he didn’t wait for Drift to say anything else, surging forward and sweeping him up into a strut popping hug. He faintly heard Drift yelp as his feet left the ground, felt arms wrap around his shoulders and lips pressed to the side of his face, but all he could focus on, all he could think about, was how Drift was here, he was  _ safe _ , he  _ was Ratchet’s. _

 

Before he’d realized it, he’d carried them halfway through the tiny ship, with Drift clinging to him effortlessly. The ‘washrack’ was a tiny thing, a closet with a shower head on the wall, not actually meant to hold more than one mech at a time, but that didn’t stop him from setting Drift on his feet and crowding him in under the spray.

 

“Really? I kinda figured we’d start off somewhere else.” Drift teased, the lecherous smirk at odds with the EMF full of reassurance and love, letting Ratchet know that whatever he chose, it was ok.

 

“Pit….I ah...I didn’t really have anything planned except to make sure you were cleaned up and repaired...I uh...I wasn’t sure you’d be interested in picking up where we left off…” Ratchet mumbled into his subspace as his rummaged around for the tools he needed. Drift’s hands on his arms stopped him cold, and he risked a look at the other mech. His vents stalled at the sight of that soft smile, cleanser running in rivulets down scuffed face plates, optics softly lit and looking at him with such  _ love _ his spark skipped a rotation.

 

“You think...that in the time we were apart...that I, what? Fell out of love with you?” Drift asked softly, cupping Ratchet’s face between his hands and leaning in till their foreheads pressed together and then cleanser sluiced off both their frames to puddle at Ratchet’s feet in the hallway. Offlining his optics, Ratchet nodded. The loud, mirthful laugh startled him, and he onlined his optics again so quickly his processor ached. Drift was laughing, optics bright and twin tracks of optical cleanser streaming down his cheeks to mix with the cleanser from overhead. The swordsmech’s field swelled with amusement, yes, but also exasperation and more of that bright, clean, sparkstopping love that made Ratchet’s processor spin. 

 

“Ratch... _ Primus _ , Ratch...I loved you for  _ four million years _ ...part of it from the  _ opposite side of a  _ **_war_ ** . And you think I could have stopped loving you  _ now _ ?!” Drift wiped away the tears from his optics, and grabbed Ratchet by the shoulders. “I guess I’ll just have to prove to you that you’re  _ wrong.” _ It was all the warning he got before Drift pulled him in, tilting his helm at the last minute to press their lips together, and it never failed to amaze him how well they fit together, like they were built for one another. In all his wild imaginings, they’d been insatiable, hot, frantic energy and passion turning their touches heavy and insistent. But Drift’s lips against his were soft, tender, a kiss that warmed him from his core out, but not with the quick rush of heat he’d anticipated. Instead, it was a slow burn, the warmth infusing every part of his frame in a rolling wave as Drift’s hands came up to cup his cheeks, stroke at the sides of his helm.

 

When they finally, regrettably, parted, Drift only pulled back far enough to speak, lips brushing against his.

 

“Ratchet, I’ve loved you for millennia...a few years felt like entirely too long to be parted, but I  _ swear, _ nothing is long enough to make me stop loving you, do you understand?”

 

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t process any form of communication beyond numb, stunned nodding as Drift pressed more soft, sweet kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his chin. The cleanser pattered unheeded down over their helms and the puddle in the hallway grew as they lost themselves to the tender touches of two mechs relearning frames that were as familiar to them as their own. Ratchet’s fans rattled on first with a spray of cleanser mist, though Drift’s weren’t far behind.

 

“Slag…” Ratchet gasped, pulling away and twisting to stare at the wall, the shower controls,  _ anything but Drift willing and ready for him. _ His medic protocols were still screaming at the forefront of his processor, and until he made sure that all of that  _ awful _ damage was surface blemishes and not hints at underlying serious wounds, he couldn’t think about anything else without his HUD overflowing with alarms and alerts. “Drift...I...I want this, I  _ do _ , but-”

 

“You gotta make sure I’m not gonna keel over first, I know.” Drift snickered, stepping back under the spray and spreading his arms wide. 

 

That...that  _ really _ didn’t help…

 

He shunted all of the alerts tied to his interfacing systems to a junk folder to be deleted, and focused on the task at hand with the sort of professionalism he didn’t feel in his spark. With all of those long, sleek lines of plating bared for him, the scuffs and dings weren’t quite enough to take his mind off the last time that frame had been entwined with his, on board the Lost Light, in what had turned out to be Drift’s farewell evening. Flashes of memory, of that streamlined plating flared, hot to the touch, covered in a sheen of coolant, had his mouth going dry and his fans spinning back up despite his repeated attempts to bring his systems back under his iron control. 

 

They both pretended to not notice when his hands shook as he reached out to inspect the numerous surface wounds littering Drift’s plating. None appeared to be life threatening, or even very severe, so he pulled at Drift’s hip to get him to turn. 

 

“How... _ how _ do you manage to be fine even when you aren’t?” Ratchet grumbled, coming to the same conclusion on Drift’s back as he had on the mech’s front. Drift just snickered, lifting and dropping one shoulder in a half sparked shrug.

 

“Four million years, Ratch. And the ‘Con medics weren’t nearly as good as your team...you learn to just not get hit, if you can, and if not, to take care of it yourself.” Ratchet vented heavily, rolling his optics even though he knew Drift wouldn’t see it, and dropped to his knees in the swirling, dingy, dust colored cleanser. He didn’t say anything, focused on probing the gashed opening in the curve of plating along the back of his calf. 

 

Drift stayed still above him, though he dropped his hands to his sides. Fingers brushed the side of Ratchet’s helm, but he studiously ignored them in favor of inspecting the clean edges and the surprisingly quality packing material the speedster had filled the wound with. It would hold as was, but after Drift got dried off, he’d feel better if he put a mesh patch over the opening. Mechs thought letting a wound ‘air’ was a good idea...it...it  _ really _ wasn’t…

 

Drift turned when prompted, and the inspection was done again along the fronts of his legs, paying close attention to the narrow ankle joints and the ridiculously delicate plating along the tops of his pedes. Black servos balled into fists at Drift’s sides, and Ratchet couldn’t resist teasing, once he satisfied himself that the speedster wasn’t going to fall apart before his optics. Glancing up at Drift from under the shadow of his chevron, he locked optics and leaned in to press a kiss to the center of Drift’s panel. He grinned at the shaky in-vent that got him, and savored the strongly missed sensation of Drift heating up beneath his lips.

 

“Um...Ratch…” Drift’s voice was shaky, filled with static, and Ratchet shifted to the side to press another kiss to the tender protomesh afforded him by the gap between thigh and pelvic armor. Drift jumped at that one, and his fans sped up significantly, music to the medic’s audials. “ _ Oh slag,  _ R-Ratch….if you...if you don’t stop...oh Primus I’ve missed you….”

 

Ratchet laughed, wrapping his arms around the speedster’s trembling thighs, cupping a double handful of that gorgeous aft and staring up at Drift from where he knelt at the beautiful mech’s feet. “I’ve missed you too, Drift...you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?”

 

Drift opened his mouth, clearly intending to argue, and Ratchet silenced him with another heated kiss to cleanser slicked metal, scraping his dentae lightly over the plating and firming up his hold on the other mech when his knees buckled.

 

A soft whimper preceded the plating beneath his lips withdrawing to bare Drift’s array. Without missing a beat, his lips found the soft glow of the other mech’s anterior node, wrapping gently around the warm nub and flicking the tip of his glossa over it. Drift’s hands on his helm trembled, and his knees shook, clearly struggling to hold him upright. 

 

“ _ Ratch _ ….oh  _ slag _ , Ratch, ple- _ ease,  _ I can’t…” Anticipating it, knowing him as he did, Ratchet had already crowded closer still, till his knees bumped up against the back wall, and he slung one of Drift’s legs up over his shoulder, bearing the speedster’s weight with no problem as he continued to worship the slick mesh beneath his lips and glossa. Drift’s heel pressed into his back, wordlessly begging for  _ more _ , which Ratchet was more than happy to give him. 

 

For long, precious moments, they were ensconced in the quiet, the only sounds the cleanser striking their plating, Drift’s soft gasps and moans, and the slick sounds of Ratchet’s lips on Drift’s array. The silence and the heat combined to create a sort of cocoon around them, an imaginary barrier that kept everyone and everything away, all that was left were the two of them.

 

It was the sort of closeness that Ratchet hadn’t even realized he’d missed. One of Drift’s hands came to rest gently on the back of his helm, not to push or control, but to stroke along the curve of his helm while he pressed suckling kisses to Drift’s node, scraping dentae gently over the hot protoflesh, not enough to hurt, just enough to be felt. 

 

Drift moaned, fingers tightening against his head, hips bucking up, the leg thrown over his shoulder tightening to keep his balance. It wasn’t long before his hips lost their rhythm, and he was crying out Ratchet’s name in overload, slumping back against the wall and letting Ratchet bear up his weight. 

 

Ratchet supported him easily, leaning forward that little bit further and wrapping his hands around that tiny waist as he lapped at the warm, soft mesh of Drift’s array, relishing the quiet whimpers and the weak twitches as he drug that first overload out for as long as was possible.

 

It wasn’t until he was satisfied that Drift was thoroughly sated for the moment that he stood, gathering the speedster up in his arms and cradling him to his chest. A remote command had the stream of cleanser cutting off

 

Stepping out of the shower, Ratchet had two choices. A right, and a trek down the short corridor, and an annoying entry pad later, and he could spread his precious cargo out on a berth. A left, and there was the pilot’s seat, immediately available for some interim fun.

 

It really wasn’t a hard decision to make. After all, he figured they needed to become reaquainted many, many,  _ many _ times, and to confine the entire thing to the berth was just  _ boring _ . 

 

Dropping into the surprisingly comfortable chair (was padding the pilot’s seat the  _ only _ thing Drift had spent shanix on in this derelict ship?), he helped Drift to sit up and turn sideways in his lap. He had plans for this chair, but first, there was something he needed to do.

 

Grasping Drift’s chin between thumb and forefinger, he guided the other mech to face him, and leaned in to press their lips together. What started off soft and tender turned heated in a flash, lips parting and glossas tangling as they both vented rapidly heating air between their frames. Parting with a gasp, he rested their foreheads together and stole another lazy kiss, then another.

 

It wasn’t until Drift tried to turn, to climb up and straddle Ratchet’s lap, that he remembered he’d had something specific in mind when he’d sat down. Drift made a curious noise in the back of his vocalizer when Ratchet stopped him, and tugged at his outer leg, the one not trapped against the edge of the chair. Slowly, haltingly, he allowed himself to be turned, and positioned, so he was leaning back against Ratchet’s chest with his legs splayed to either side of Ratchet’s, his still bared array on display in the reflective surface of the door to the hall that Ratchet had keyed closed.

 

Ratchet watched as the reflection Drift’s optics flared, the apertures widening as far as they would go as he took in the sight of himself splayed open so obscenely on his lap. When he tried to look away, head turning to the side with a beautiful blush staining his cheeks, Ratchet slid one hand from the round swell of one slightly trembling thigh, up abdominal plating that twitched at his touch, over scuffed chest armor and up that sleek throat. Drift tilted his helm back at that, baring his throat to the warmth of his palm. For a brief moment he admired the sight that made, his hand on Drift’s throat, thumb stroking the underside of his jaw.

 

His other hand slid light and teasing up the inside of the speedster’s thigh, and the way he could  _ feel _ the vibration of Drift’s moan against his palm sent a bolt of heat straight to his array.

 

Finally, he relinquished his hold on the swordsmech’s throat, sliding up to grasp his jaw and guide his optics back to their reflection in the door.

 

Drift shivered, lips parting on a soft ‘ _ oh _ ’ as their optics met in the reflection, and Ratchet reached up with his free hand, the one not holding Drift in place, to pry one of the other mech’s hands from its death grip on the arm rest. 

 

“Relax…” He said, pressing a kiss to the side of one heated cheek vent. He guided the captured hand down, curling Drift’s lax fingers around his own spike, enjoying the shuddering exvent that granted him.

 

“I have missed you, Drift. All of you. Pit, kid, you made every cycle worth onlining. And you know what else I missed?”

 

Drift shook his head, optics never leaving their wavy reflection, but Ratchet noticed the way his hand tensed and untensed subtly around his spike, how his cheeks pinkened with increased energon, finials raising up high and wide, and just as flushed at the tips. His fans kicked on with a slight wobble, and that was something he’d have to look at before too long, but at the moment, he contented himself with letting his own fans ramp up a notch or two, supplementing the speedster’s cooling system and taking some of the stress off his obviously overworked fans. He pressed his lips to the curve of Drift’s jaw where it disappeared into the side of his helm, and then smirked at their reflections, slumping down and letting his thighs splay apart further.

 

“I missed this beautiful sight right here.” He pressed a single finger to Drift’s external node, already glowing brightly, and turned up the vibrating coils in the tips of his fingers, watching as Drift squealed and squirmed on his lap.

 

Drift gasped, bucking up into Ratchet’s hand and tilting his helm to the side to wrap his lips around two of Ratchet’s fingers. Ratchet shifted his hand, chuckling when Drift refused to release the digits, instead following his movements till his optics were once again locked on their reflection.

 

It was as if that was a switch being flipped, and his fans went from a low setting to screaming high in a nanoclik, and his hand on his spike started to move, while he suckled and lapped at the digits in his mouth, hips shifting in Ratchet’s lap, torn between his own hand on his spike and Ratchet’s clever fingers on his node.

 

Twisting his wrist, Ratchet pressed two fingers slowly, carefully, still vibrating, past the first ring of clenching calipers, and trapped Drift’s node under his thumb.

 

Once his fingers were seated inside Drift’s valve, he held still, content to let the vibrating coils do most of the work, watching the reflection in the door across from them hungrily as Drift came undone on his lap.

 

Drift was a vision in the highly polished surface, legs dangling off either side of his, feet twitching and kicking helplessly, thighs trembling and tensed.

 

His hand on his spike had lost its rhythm fairly quickly, and he wasn’t doing much more than mindlessly squeezing and palming at it by now, focused completely on what Ratchet’s fingers were (and weren’t) doing in his valve. Flushed, panting, covered already in a fine sheen of coolant, it was no wonder when Ratchet’s override codes failed, and his panel drew back.

 

Drift whined and shivered when Ratchet withdrew his fingers from the sinful, silky clench of his valve, but it was the work of only a moment and minimal effort on Ratchet’s part to hoist him up in his lap, giving his spike room to pressurize between Drift’s thighs and come to rest against the other mech’s valve. It was only then that Ratchet noticed how very…clean, and untouched Drift’s array looked, in comparison with the dreadful state of his external armor. Filing that little tidbit away for further contemplation, he shifted, brushing across Drift’s nub with his spike and watching the way the swordsmech whimpered around his fingers, oral lubricant shining on his lips and chin.

 

Ratchet rested his chin on Drift’s shoulder, teasingly sliding his spike along Drift’s array and trying to ignore the way those lips and that glossa felt on his fingers.

 

Drift’s glossa pressed insistently at his fingers, and he withdrew them obediently, cupping Drift’s cheek and admiring the shine of his lips, the way he licked and bit them as he tried and failed to keep the litany of pleas from escaping his vocalizer.

 

“Ra- _ ah _ -Ratch, please? Oh Primus,  _ please _ , I’ve missed you so much, I’ve missed us so much, please don’t tease me like this!”

 

Knowing they had all night (and really, they had weeks before they’d even be within  _ range _ of the Lost Light, weeks where Ratchet could keep Drift open, revved up and mindless with pleasure, making up for all that lost time), he didn’t bother teasing further, pulling at Drift’s hips and shifting till the head of his spike pressed past the rim of his valve and he thrust shallowly into the welcoming embrace of his lover with a low, shuddering moan.

 

Drift in the reflection was glassy opticked, mouth slack and cheeks beautifully flushed, stroking his spike slowly, absentmindedly as he locked optics with Ratchet and clenched down around his spike in a ripple of calipers that threatened to break his hard kept self-control in favor of a quick, mind blowing overload. 

 

_ Two could play at that game _ , he thought, using his grip on Drift’s hips to pull the mech down snugly in his lap, setting a slow, almost torturous push-pull, lifting Drift out of his lap and pulling him back down slowly, despite the other mech’s whining protests. It seemed some things never changed. Like how much Drift enjoyed it when he used his medic-given strength against the swordsmech. Because, despite his squirming, there was no way for Drift to break free of Ratchet’s grip peacefully, leaving him at his mercy. 

 

Ratchet never had figured out what it was that revved him up, the display of his strength, or the fact that Drift knew he couldn’t do anything but go along for the ride.

 

Not that it mattered. As it was, he had a lap full of moaning, trembling, overheated speedster, and he intended to make sure that Drift forgot everything but their names by the time they fell into recharge. 

 

Leaning up, mouthing along the edge of Drift’s jaw, up to his audial sensors, he pulled the other mech down tight against his array and rocked up into the welcoming clench of his valve while the swordsmech gave a sharp, stuttering exvent.

 

“Soon as you overload, I’m going to take you back to the berth,” He murmured, nipping at the lower edge of one twitching finial, “Spread you out, and make love to you till you forget your own designation.” Drift let his head drop back against Ratchet’s shoulder, moaning wantonly, the hand on his spike pumping almost desperately now, chasing down that overload, wanting what was to come next. 

 

“So beautiful like this,” It would never not be awkward, no matter how confident he was, to talk dirty in the berth. But this? This was just the truth. The truth was easy. “So sexy.” He bit his lip before he went off on a rambling, nonsensical litany of praise and ‘i missed you’s. What he said was apparently enough, however, and Drift was shuddering and moaning through another overload just ahead of his own. The undulating cycling of calipers around his spike pulled him over the edge after Drift, and he overloaded with a groan, muffling it against Drift’s throat cables.

 

He drank in the sight of Drift splayed out on his lap in the reflection of the door, limp and relaxed in the afterglow of his overload, expression as content and blissful as the soft brush of the EMF against his own. His optics tracked down the other mech’s frame, pausing as they always did on those smart stripes of color that seemed to just scream to him ‘follow us’ as they led down to Drift’s array, shining with their combined fluids. Still so pristine, so...untouched…

 

Except for a single streak of red along the inside edge of his retracted panel…

 

_ Ratchet woke slowly, feeling a sense of relaxation he hadn’t known since before the war. Drift was awake, stroking the back of his helm, helping him to wake slowly and peacefully, instead of booting online all at once as his reflexes still did to him nearly every morning cycle. _

 

_ “M’rning.” He grumbled, rebooting his vocalizer to clear the fuzz of sleep from his voice and tried again. “Morning. You been awake long?” _

 

_ Drift looked away, the guilty expression on his face telling Ratchet all he needed to know. _

 

_ “If that empty headed captain of ours woke you up for something important, you should have left. And if he woke you up for no good reason…” _

 

_ Drift laughed, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss the top of his helm. _

 

_ “No, Ratch...nothing like that...I just...I just like watching you recharge. You aren’t the CMO when you’re offline. It’s the only time I really get to see you completely relaxed.” _

 

_ “Mmm….I was pretty relaxed last night…” Ratchet grinned, rolling over on top of Drift, trapping him in the cage of his arms and legs as he kissed the other mech through a giggle fit. _

 

_ There wasn’t time for any play, though. Drift insisted, saying that they had something Important to do (complete with audible capitalization), that couldn’t wait. _

 

_ “It can at least wait till we get you cleaned up...why did you take such good care of me and the seal yourself back up like that?” He tapped at Drift’s panel, at the streaks of fluid along the insides of his thighs, and after much protesting, at the end of which Ratchet pointed out they could have been finished already if Drift didn’t argue with him, Drift finally allowed himself to be laid back on the berth, relaxing into the sheets and optics firmly locked on the ceiling as Ratchet meticulously cleaned him up till his array was nearly factory clean. _

 

_ “What, don’t wanna look at me now? Hmmm?” Ratchet teased as he worked, and Drift grunted, offlining his optics. _

 

_ “Ratch, if I look at you down there, you  _ know _ I’m going to wind up getting revved up, and we don’t have time...I  _ wish _ we did, but we  _ don’t. _ ” _

 

_ “Ok ok, whatever this is, it can’t wait, I’ve got it. Look, you’re all cleaned up. All that’s left is to buff out this paint transfer riiiiiiight here,” A teasing swipe of a single fingertip across the streak of his own red paint decorating the lip of Drift’s panel had the other mech squirming beneath him, and he almost didn’t pull his hand away fast enough as Drift’s panel snapped shut definitively. “But I can take care of that later.” _

 

He hadn’t known at the time that there wasn’t going to  _ be _ a later.

 

But it was _still_ _there_ …

 

Two years, and that paint transfer was  _ still there _ .

 

“Drift?” Drift perked up a bit at the sound of his own designation, one finial twitching up lazily. Their optics locked in the reflection, as Ratchet ran his thumb over the little streak of red, and Drift blushed, finials drooping down nearly flat against his helm as he looked anywhere but at Ratchet.

 

“You didn’t…?”

 

“Never had a reason too...never wanted anyone else’s touch…” Drift mumbled into his own chest plate, and Ratchet couldn’t stand to see him so embarrassed over something so  _ sentimental _ ...he refused to acknowledge the hot lump that had formed in his intake, as he reached up to capture Drift’s chin and meet him halfway for a kiss. 

 

Drift, already so limp and relaxed despite his sudden onslaught of embarrassment, seemed to  _ melt _ against Ratchet as the kiss progressed, free with his moans and whimpers, leaning in for more each time Ratchet tried to pull away.

 

“Kid, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Ratchet said, vocalizer gone raspy by the time he managed to pull away again for a breather.

 

“Not a chance….Don’t want you to leave…” Drift said, lips brushing his with every word he said.

 

“Not a chance.” Ratchet echoed, stealing another kiss.

 

He didn’t give Drift much in the way of a warning, gathering the other mech up against his chest as soon as the pistons in his legs resolidified enough to hold their weight, and rising from the chair. Drift yelped, clinging to Ratchet’s shoulders and snickering into the side of his neck. 

 

“Something funny?” Ratchet chuckled, shifting the bundle of mech clinging to him to get both hands firmly under those thick thighs, and if he copped a feel, it didn’t make his argument that he was supporting Drift’s weight any less true, did it?

 

“Yes? No?” Drift giggled, twisting to get both legs wrapped tight around Ratchet’s thick, boxy waist, and pushing away from his chest plate with both hands on his shoulders. His face was still bright red, though from exertion, heat, or hilarity, Ratchet didn’t know, but his optics downright sparkled with happiness, and his wide smile hurt  _ Ratchet’s _ cheeks.

 

“Well? Which is it?” Ratchet couldn’t help, didn’t _ want  _ to help, the infectious smile that he felt on his own face, standing there in the middle of the tiny hall with his arms full of speedster and his field meshing so comfortably with the giddy, relaxed (and definitely still aroused) field of the other mech.

 

“I don’t know?” Drift bit his lip, still grinning, and pressed their foreheads together as he flooded his field with all the positive, happy emotions he had at his disposal, all but overwhelming Ratchet with the sudden sense of ‘ _ content/in love/ _ **_home_ ** ’ that washed over him and nearly knocked him off his feet.

 

“Well, when you figure it out, you let me know.” He said when he finally found his vocalizer again, tipping his head back a fraction so their lips slotted together in a soft, warm,  _ comforting _ kiss.

 

Drift didn’t respond, busy pushing up with the tight grip he had around Ratchet’s waist, forcing Ratchet to tilt his head further back or break the kiss that Drift was taking from chaste to strut melting in the beat of a spark. 

 

It took longer than Ratchet was willing to admit to force himself to pull away, breaking the kiss with a gasp, trying to supplement his screaming cooling fans as he craned his neck back to avoid Drift’s seeking mouth.

 

“Slag, Drift, you don’t stop that and we’re gonna wind up here on the floor, instead of in your berth.”

 

“ _ Our _ berth, and it wouldn’t be the first time.” Drift snickered, leaning in and nipping at Ratchet’s lower lip when he ducked back again. “At least this time, Magnus won’t trip over us and give us citations for indecent exposure, public displays of affection, actions not befitting commanding officers,  _ and _ creating a safety hazard in a public space.”

 

All of that  _ was _ true, and a very good argument on top of it. But Ratchet didn’t want their first night back together spent on the dingy, damp floor in a cramped hallway.

 

“Drift, behave, or else.” Ratchet snarled good naturedly, engine giving a warning rev that had Drift shivering in his arms from the vibrations traveling up through their plating.

 

“Mmmm, or else,  _ what _ ?” Drift purred, squirming, pressing his heated panel against Ratchet’s abdominal armor, the heat impossible to ignore.

 

Ratchet could think of a half dozen good replies to that. Two dozen more that were less good, more...porn vid corny… Instead of using any of them, he simply took off down the hall and slid through the doorway to Drift’s tiny habsuite sideways, too impatient to wait for the door to open completely.

 

Drift bounced when Ratchet deposited him onto the berth, giggling even as he surged up to grab hold of Ratchet’s shoulders and tug him down on top of him. He caught himself before he crashed down on top of the other mech, palms sinking into a sinfully soft, plush padding that was at complete odds with the state of disrepair that the rest of the ship was in. Ratchet was willing to bet the ridiculous number of owed shanix from his military back-pay that there would be a stash of super soft organic sheets and covers hidden somewhere nearby.

 

He was pulled out of his musings at Drift’s priorities for the ship when said mech tilted his head to the side and blew a puff of hot, moist air over his knuckles. The sensors triggered with a wave of input that had him fisting the sheets, swallowing down a moan as he pushed himself up onto his knees and pinned Drift in place with one hand in the middle of that scuffed and scarred chest plate.

 

“No.”

 

Drift’s optics dimmed and brightened, and Ratchet hurried to continue as a hurt expression inched across his face and field both.

 

“The last time we were together, you made it all about me.” He said slowly, drawing his fingertips down the gouges in that thick white breastplate, where a frowning red face used to sit, to the black vertical line of armor leading to his pelvic assembly, and the heated array hidden away beneath it. Drift shuddered, biting his lip and squirming in the sheets but remaining otherwise still as Ratchet traced each individual etched v in the panel over his array. “This time...I want to return the favor.”

 

“Ra _ atch _ !” Drift whined, panel snapping aside and spike pressurizing up into Ratchet’s waiting palm without hesitation, “Ratch,  _ please _ !  _ Ahh! _ ” Whatever Drift had been begging for, it was swallowed up by the static laden gasp as Ratchet shifted till he was kneeling at the edge of the berth, and leaned down to seal his lips around the head of Drift’s spike.

 

For a moment, everything else ceased to matter. Ratchet’s optics offlined, and his senses were filled with  _ Drift. _ The weight of him on his glossa as he pressed down, taking in more of Drift, until the head of his spike nudged at the back of his intake, the taste of him, the scent. It was all so  _ Drift _ , and it felt  _ right _ . The other mech’s legs trembled, feet flat on the berth and thighs pressing against the sides of his head without squeezing so hard as to cause discomfort, and Ratchet could feel the thrum of his fuel pump vibrating throughout his frame. Fingers cupped his helm, traced the edges of his chevron with a gentleness that few knew the swordsmech possessed.

 

That he still had the wherewithal to  _ use _ that soft touch so knowledgeably was a hint that Ratchet needed to step up his game, however.

 

Settling on his front, and slipping one hand into the small space between their frames, he happily went to work, alternating between suction that had Drift bucking up into his mouth and all but shouting his name, and lapping at individual nodes and plating seams that earned him fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on his chevron.

 

When he pressed the pad of his thumb against Drift’s anterior node and turned on the heating coil that had a bad tendency to vibrate in that particular digit, Drift tensed, and his hips rose up off the berth as charge started to visibly leap between plates all along his frame.

 

The taste of charge crackling against his glossa, the scent of ozone rapidly heating between them, the way Drift couldn’t quite keep still despite obvious effort, hips twitching and thighs trembling, they were all signs of impending overload that Ratchet was eager to taste.

 

Drift tried to hold back, tried to push Ratchet away with a garbled, static heavy warning, but Ratchet chose that moment to slip two fingers past the stretched rim of his valve, curling them up to stroke along warm, swollen sensors. Arching up off the berth, hands curling around the back of his helm, Drift overloaded with a nonsensical shout that might have been some attempt at his name. Ratchet lapped at the slowly depressurizing spike as he released it from his mouth, tracing delicately along overlapping plates while Drift whimpered and twitched beneath him. 

 

Pressing a kiss to his hip, the individual stripes of his abdominal armor, his chest plate right over those telltale gouges, he worked his way up Drift’s lax, relaxed frame slowly, mapping out all the little scuffs and dents once more, with his lips and glossa instead of his hands. Drift let him, murmuring sweet little nothings as he ran his fingers up and down the edges of Ratchet’s chevron, lazy, barely there petting that did more to rev Ratchet up than any deliberate touches any past lover had ever tried. 

 

By the time he rose up on his palms, face to face with the object of his affection...was affection the right word? He wouldn’t go traipsing across the galaxy for a fling...He knew Drift meant so much more to him than that…

 

Drift, unaware of his musings, made a sleepy little chirp in the back of his vocalizer, framing Ratchet’s face with both hands and stretching up till their noses brushed.

 

“You okay, Ratch?” 

 

And he  _ was _ . They were stuck on a dingy, beat to slag ship, on the edge of civilization, away from the  _ Lost Light _ , away from all their friends, isolated, alone,  _ together. _

 

“I love you, Drift.”

 

The way Drift’s face lit up, optics brightening till they were blown out white, the smile that stretched his mouth to the point of looking painful, he was awake again in that moment, completely reenergized, field a wash of disbelief and amazement and love, and it was so beautiful, and so….reverent wasn’t the word he was looking for, but it was the closest he could come to the almost overwhelming amount of emotions flooding his EMF receptors...it was  _ terrifying _ , how those three little words changed Drift so completely, because how could he ever make that happen again? He couldn’t top the way Drift was feeling right then and there, and to even try would be a waste of effort...wouldn’t it?

 

Lips pressed softly against his, dentae pinched his bottom lip lightly, and then Drift was smiling at him and pressing another kiss to the tip of his nose.

 

“You’re thinking too much...I love you too, Ratchet. From the core of my spark, out, I love you.” 

 

He dropped down to rest the majority of his weight on his forearms then, fingers curling against the sides of Drift’s helm as he stole another kiss, one that escalated quickly from the tender, loving press of lips to a tangle of glossas, moans and heated exvents mixing in the nonexistent space between them.

 

Sliding one hand down Drift’s side, tweaking at sensors and cable bundles along the way, he cupped the back of one strong thigh, guiding Drift to drape his leg over Ratchet’s hip, giving him the space he needed to slide into Drift’s welcoming valve once more, without ever breaking the kiss.

 

Drift’s hands curled into blunt tipped claws against his back, mouth insistent on his as he wrapped his other leg around Ratchet’s waist, crossing his ankles and using the new bit of leverage to try and quicken his pace. 

 

But this wasn’t another hot, mindless frag, and Ratchet wasn’t about to treat it like it was. He resisted the pressure against his hips, keeping his pace slow and steady as Drift spread open around his spike, hands firm on Drift’s face when the swordsmech tried to twist away, break the kiss, demand he go faster, harder, all the usual requests. No, this was going to be different.

 

Pulling back just as slowly, till only the head of his spike was surrounded by the greedy pulling cycle of calipers, he finally broke the kiss, raising up slightly to admire Drift’s flushed face, the way he panted and gasped for air to supplement his overheated systems. Stroking the softer, thinner metal beneath his optics with his thumbs, he waited till the pink cheeked mech locked optics with him.

 

“Love you, Drift.” He didn’t grin at the goofy expression that melted Drift’s demanding scowl straight away, but it was a close call. Pressing back in just as slowly, feeling each ring of calipers spread one by one around him, he leaned back down to kiss the golden center of Drift’s crest.

 

“I love you too, Ratch...but.. _ please _ , frag me?” Drift begged, optics dimming at helm tilting back to expose the long graceful curve of his throat to Ratchet’s skillful mouth.

 

“Hmmm?” He hummed, pressing suckling kisses to the thick cables to either side of the center column of the other mech’s throat, “No,” another kiss, “I don’t think I will…” A nip, then a soft kiss to sooth the sting.

 

“ _ Ra~atch!” _ Drift sobbed, squirming beneath his frame, trying to spur him into movement.

 

“No...no I don’t think I want to  _ frag _ you right now…” Another wordless sob, a clench of fists against his back, and he leaned down, lips hovering a hairsbreadth above Drift’s.

 

“Right now, I want to make  _ love _ to you, Drift. Take you apart slowly and tenderly, till you’re mindless with it, and all that’s left is the two of us. Do you suppose that’ll be a decent substitute for the proper fragging you want?” He punctuated his question with a quick snap of his hips, and Drift shifted up the berth slightly, optics wide and mouth slack, a long, unending, purely  _ pornographic _ moan Ratchet’s only answer.

 

“Drift?” Another roll of his hips, this time slower, more drawn out, and Drift met his optics, flushed and glassy opticked and biting his lower lip so fetchingly that Ratchet couldn’t resist leaning in and capturing the dented lip between his own, glossa flicking over the little buckle in soft, supple plating.

 

When he pulled away, field questioning and teasing and so hopelessly,  _ ridiculously  _ in love, Drift was nodding frantically, arms wrapped around the back of his neck pulling him back down.

 

“Yes, oh  _ Primus,  _ yes, Ratch, sweetspark, that’s all I want, all I’ll  _ ever want _ ,  _ please! _ ”

 

“With  _ pleasure _ .” He grinned, letting himself be pulled into another kiss as he set up a slow, steady pace, one hand sliding down to curl around Drift’s trim waist, holding him steady, the other reaching up to tweak a finial point as he focused on bringing his lover to a processor crashing overload.

 

He lost track of time in the slow push-pull of their frames rocking together on the berth, heated exvents warming and warping the air around them, the sound of fans screaming on high a background music for the sweet sounds of Drift as he became a wordless wreck, reduced to gasps, whimpers, and moans to express himself as Ratchet expertly tweaked his field and frame, doing as he promised and pulling the speedster apart till the only sound he could make was Ratchet’s name, or a very shaky approximation thereof.

 

Heat was coiling low in his frame, overload threatening to overwhelm him while he mouthed along Drift’s jaw, and he wasn’t ready, wouldn’t  _ ever _ be ready for this to end, but he wanted to see Drift go over first.

 

And then it came to him, the perfect way to end their evening.

 

Raising up onto his elbows again to put a little distance between their faces, and  _ oh, _ even though there wasn’t a draught of cool air left in their quarters, the hot air that swirled into the space between their frames was still cooler than they were, but he couldn’t let himself be distracted,  _ wouldn’t _ .

 

“Drift?” Damnit, his vocalizer sounded far more shaky than he’d thought it would, and he rebooted it twice before he was willing to risk speaking again.

 

“Y-yea Ratch?” Drift managed, swallowing audibly and cupping his coolant streaked face between shaking, trembling palms.

 

“Drift, sweetspark...I love you…” He bit his lip, offlining his optics briefly as he focused on holding his overload at bay. He  _ would _ get through this first, slagit! 

 

“I love you too Ratch, so,  _ so _ much.” Drift whimpered, frame tensing below him, around him, and the rhythmic clench of the calipers around his spike was becoming far more erratic, and he needed to make this quick, needed to time it just right.

 

“Will you be my conjunx?”

 

Drift’s optics flashed, and he was nodding frantically, pulling Ratchet down into a kiss even as he was stuttering out a mantra of ‘yes,  _ yes, _ oh Ratchet,  _ yes _ ’ and in that moment, everything just seemed to fall into place, as Drift overloaded, frame locking up and optics flaring and going dark.

 

His own overload washed over him, a burst of stars skittering across his tac-net, and he only just caught himself before slumping down over Drift, rolling to the side and pulling the other mech along with him into the cradle of his arms as he fought off the dimming at the edge of his processor.

 

Drift, on the other hand, was out cold, a blissful smile curling the corners of his mouth, as Ratchet pressed soft, absentminded kisses to every available inch of his face and helm.

 

When he rebooted, it was slow, groggy, and his field was a riot of confusion, love and disbelief and excitement and more disbelief all warring with one another, but Ratchet was expecting it, and kept up the little rain of kisses even as he murmured ‘I love you’s and ‘my sweet, precious conjunx’ and ‘so lucky’, ‘so happy’, ‘thank you for saying yes’ into Drift’s plating, stroking his sides and hugging him close.

 

“Ratch?”

 

The way Drift said it, sleepy sounding, full of a quiet sort of awe and hopefulness that spun Ratchet’s spark into a frenzy, it was all committed to long term memory, filed away in a safe space to be replayed over and over again, but he planned on seeing a lot more of this side of Drift, and so slowly, reluctantly, rolled them over to let Drift splay out limp and loose on the berth.

 

Rising up onto his knees, he kissed Drift’s pouting mouth and expertly dodged the grabby hands the other mech made as he left the berth in search of cleaning cloths.

 

“Ratch…” Drift whined, reaching out for him, and Ratchet couldn’t help but snicker, capturing a still of the seasoned warrior reaching over the side of the berth for him with the world’s most adorable grumpy expression on his face.

 

“Let me just find something to clean us up with and then we can get some recharge, I promise.” He soothed, reaching back and linking their fingers together, signing the same promise into warm palms. Drift’s field settled, the sleepy concern and hint of panic that had been edging into the peaceful bliss evaporating as Ratchet returned with cloth in hand, and the field’s owner allowed himself to be shifted around on the berth as Ratchet gently swiped away coolant and lubricant and transfluid alike. 

 

It wasn’t a proper cleansing, but it would do for the moment. Ratchet couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered with more than a rudimentary clean up at the moment. In the morning, they could take another shower, have a repeat of tonight. After all, there were multiple places on this little ship Ratchet could think of that needed christening. 

 

But right then, all he wanted to do was fall into the berth, bundle the sleepy speedster up in his arms, and sleep for a good, solid defrag cycle with his conjunx-to-be curled up against him.

 

Drift did just that, curling up against Ratchet’s frame, cheek pressed to his windshield, a soft smile on his face.

 

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Drift mumbled, sleep fuzzing his vocalizer as he fought against the seductive pull of recharge. 

 

“No, Drift. It’s not a dream. You’re stuck with me for the rest of our lives.” He smiled fondly down at the drowsy swordsmech, stroking his cheek vent and cursing his lack of forethought that put them in a position where he couldn’t kiss anything but the top of Drift’s crest.

 

“Perfect.” Drift yawned, nuzzling up against his windshield and pressing his palm over his spark.

 

The morning would wait till morning. They had a lot of tomorrows to live. Tonight was about falling asleep with the mech he loved safe in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Commission information can be found [here](http://the-sparkbeat.tumblr.com/post/139583432468/price-list-ficlet-100-500-words-1000) if you are interested. Thank you!


End file.
